


Allow Me This

by osunism



Series: Lightning In A Bottle [17]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Light Smut, Tearjerker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osunism/pseuds/osunism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the price one pays to be the Inquisitor is not currency or favors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allow Me This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ballades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades/gifts).



> This fic is a gift to a friend--author Ballades here on AO3--she beta'd most of the fic, and I trust her angry red pen without question. This is the ending I originally had in mind for "Happenstance" but because of the nature of Hadiza and Cullen's relationship, it wasn't plausible. However, not one to let a good story go to waste, I decided to write it anyway, as a stand-alone of what-might-have-been.

I shouldn’t lie to him. It doesn’t become me.

“Whatever happens, you _will_ come back,” he whispers into my hair. I glance up at Andraste and beg her forgiveness. And then I open my mouth and I lie to him. I lie to him because he needs to believe in the certainty of my survival. I lie to him because I need him to believe and thus be able to do his job.

“I’ll come back, and we can work on that thing you promised me.”  I laugh. He smiles and kisses me, and for a moment the world drops away. I kiss back, wondering if he tastes the lie on my mouth, because I can taste the blighted truth on his.

 

 

           My day is going well enough, and everyone’s gotten used to the tension eddying in the air. We’re all bracing for the impact of an inevitable attack. Corypheus is pissed; we all know it. I took the eluvian from him, and with it his only chance of entering the Fade physically. With no other viable options, he’s got no choice but to squash me once and for all.

           _I cannot even suffer an unknowing rival. You_ ** _must_** _die._

I must. As if it’s preordained. I laugh to keep from crying because I know my chances of surviving are slim.

           How silly I must look sitting at my desk, alone, tears rolling down my face.

           I pick up my quill and start writing, mostly because I have to have a contingency plan in place. No, I amend that. Not a contingency plan. This is my final promise…in case things go tits-up, as Hawke would say.

           The sun crawls across the sky, and the shadows in my room shift in conjunction with the time of day. I keep writing. The sun starts to sink behind the mountains, so I light the fat rose-scented candle on my desk. When the evening bell rings for dinner, I realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

           That and no one has come to disturb me, which any other day would have happened.

           I keep writing.

           When Cullen comes for me, bearing a covered tray, I stop writing. I go to him after he sets the tray on my bedside table. I throw my arms around him and kiss him all over his face. I want to be with him all the time. I want to forget the words I’m writing, sitting on my desk, immortalized _just in case_.

           “I should bring you dinner more often.” He laughs, then laughs again as I kiss him once more. That permanent stubble surrounds his mouth, and I can taste the wine on his lips. He’s eaten already, but I don’t mind. He’s here for me, to make sure I don’t miss another meal. The irony isn’t lost on me, I assure you.

           “Yes,” I agree, coming up for air at last, “you should.” I untangle my arms from him and make my way to the covered tray. Beneath it are several choice slices of roasted duck, seasoned with wild onion boiled vegetables, wild rice, and that Rivaini teardrop pepper I like. I start eating with my hands because this is my bedroom and no one is here to correct me for behaving like a savage. Cullen watches me, clearly amused.

           “You’ve been holed up in here all day, Hadiza, what are you about?” he asks me. Around a mouth full of duck I lie to him, but it is not the same type of lie I told him that morning in the Chantry. I lie to him openly, let him see it on my face, let him think I am being silly, trying to lighten the mood with the blood-tide of war looming over our heads. He laughs, shaking his head, accepts my playfulness, and lets me finish my meal.

           There is one thing I haven’t told anyone this past year, and that is that the Anchor still hurts.

           Every time I’m near a Fade rift, it’s a spear through my soul. When the rift _fights_ me to remain open, it tears me up inside. I feel my life breaking apart, like an old stone palace. It is as if all within me crumbles, leaving only the scaffolding, a husk where Hadiza used to be.

           I can’t tell Cullen this, even when we lay in bed together with no one to hear us but the Maker. I can’t tell him because when Corypheus comes for me—and he _will_ come for me—Cullen will be an idiot and try to stop me. He won’t let me fight the magister alone.

           I love him too much to let him be foolish on my account.

           I wash the remainder of my meal down with wine and then focus on Cullen; my beautiful, blonde, and besotted Cullen, with his crooked smile and his silly laugh.

           It’s alright…I’m a touch besotted myself, and my laugh is just as silly.

           I bite my lip. We’re just two silly people trying to save the world.

           “Hadiza, I wanted to…” He’s rubbing the back of his neck and I suppress a grin. He only does that when he wants to say something meaningful to me but he’s not sure how I’ll react. It’s endearing, the way he shuffles awkwardly on his feet. My commander can lead a charge at dawn and fight well into the next day on minimal sleep, but he can’t tell me he loves me without blushing.

           “Yes?” I prompt, smiling at him reassuringly.

           “I wanted to ask you something, but I think it would be better if we wait until after this business with Corypheus is over.” He tells me. I cant my head, fix my face into a question, urging him to continue. Cullen continues to shuffle his feet. He looks away from me, and his cheeks are red. I smile.

           “If you want to wait, then wait, Cullen. I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him falsely, but the words come out all wrong to my ears because they don’t match my thoughts. What I really want to tell him is to ask me anything he wishes. I want to tell him everything, but all I’m doing is telling him what I want to hear. My chest hurts and my breathing is out of rhythm. For a moment, Cullen just looks at me and for a moment I think he knows I’m hiding something. Then, he smiles gently. The tightness in my chest eases, but it doesn’t dissipate.

Sometimes I’ll catch him looking at me when I’m getting ready in the morning. I’ll meet his gaze in the mirror and he’ll give me that slow burning smile. We sometimes share breakfast in my quarters, and he’ll read over my reports for me while I pace around trying to devour a pastry.

Sometimes he doesn’t look over the reports, he just watches me. He tells me my morning routine is awfully complex, but he smiles as he says it, as if he could watch me all day. It’s so tender it breaks my heart. He’s looking at me like I just gave him the world and here I am about to ruin him as payment. He can’t believe anything else...he told me to allow him to worry, but then he made me assure him I’d be okay. That _we’d_ be okay. I made him a promise I’m not sure I can keep and my heart is hurting. I feel sick with dread.

           Andraste help me, I didn’t ask for this.

           _You send me the best man to ever walk into my life, you mend our hurts and stitch us together like a patchwork quilt, and now you’re asking me to go and meet my end at the hands of an ancient evil._

_Why would you do this to us?_

           Cullen closes the gap between us, takes my face in his gloved hands, and kisses my forehead.

           “I’ll wait, then. When you come back, we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

           Andraste is smiling sadly in my mind’s eye. Why does he get to be honest and I have to be the one making faulty promises? Why does his heart get to be as open as the sky and mine has to break every time I see his face?

           Andraste, why?

           “Hadiza?” He pulls back, voice rife with concern. Without realizing it, I’ve begun to cry. Cullen looks caught between anger and shock.

           “Have I done something? Hadiza, love, what’s the matter?”

           _Stop it, Cullen. Stop it so I can do my job._

           I shut my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. I open my mouth and I tell a half-truth this time.

           “I’m sorry, Cullen,” I tell him, “I just…why are you so good to me?” I open my eyes and smile through my tears. Cullen smiles back, dashes them. He doesn’t know how scared I am. He doesn’t know about the perpetual pain I’m in. The Anchor pulses and crackles briefly as if in response to my grief, but I focus on Cullen’s face, on the fierce lion’s gold of his eyes, the crooked curve of his smile, the artful placement of his scar. I focus on his face and fix my heart on it. The Anchor quiets, the hissing and crackling stops.

           “Because you deserve it, Hadiza,” he tells me. _No! Don’t tell me that!_ I laugh derisively, more at myself than at his statement.

           “You’ve done more for Thedas than anyone else ever could, and you’ve done it without excuse. You gave me a chance to prove my worth, and you judged me worthy of your love. It is enough that you are yourself, it is even more that you chose me.”

           I did choose him. I chose him because he…he felt _right_.

           And now the Maker wants me to walk away from my choice and possibly never come back. I’m going to die at Corypheus’ hands, I can feel it. I’m not even sure if I will live long enough to ensure he dies, first. Cullen will be waiting for me here at Skyhold, ready to throw open the doors and welcome me home, ready to move onto the next chapter of a book he doesn’t realize is on the final page. My companions will come back, with me or with whatever is left, and his face--Maker! I can already hear the sound his heart will make when it shatters. Who is going to be there to pick up the pieces? Who knows him well enough to fill the void I’m about to leave in him? How selfish of me, to love this man, for him to love me, only for me to perish before we could even explore the possibilities of that love. I wish for a moment that this brand were tied to _anyone_ else.

           The last of the sunset is long gone, and darkness creeps into my room, and the single candle at my desk seems all the brighter for being the only source of light. Immediately the chill of the night settles around us and I take the opportunity to distract myself by throwing a fireball into the fireplace. Cullen doesn’t seem to mind it, but I note his slight flinch. He’s likely thinking back to the days where mages hurled magic at him for sport or in defense.

    Cullen comes up behind me, puts his hands on my hips.

    “I love you,” I say to him, staring intently at the fire, letting it warm my skin. Cullen rests his chin on my shoulder, turns his head to kiss the tender line along my jaw.

    “I love you too,” he says, and means it.

    “Will you stay with me? Tonight?” I ask tentatively. I know he’ll say no, because his nightmares grip him fiercely and he doesn’t want to risk hurting me. He’s already done so once. Even though I hold no grudge, he still fears for my safety.

    This is the man the Maker wants me to walk away from.

    Cullen sighs, then inhales deep, breathing me in. I want to pour a little of my soul into him, want to leave bits and pieces of myself scattered in him like hidden treasure.

    “Yes,” he says at last, surprising me.

    After that, we make love. I say love because that’s all we bring with us to bed. Cullen is freer in my bed than he is in his own. The taint of his nightmares and fear have no hold here, and he holds me close, spills me onto the silken sheets, relishes every moment, every sound. He takes his time, and loves me until I’m quaking. He’s got the stamina of twelve men, both in battle and out of it, and it’s everything I can do just to keep up, so I hold on.

    It’s all I can do, now, I realize.

    When he climaxes it’s deep, and it grips us both. I pull him closer as it shivers through him, whisper how much I love him, clasp my arms and legs around him until his shudders subside and he goes limp above me, bracing himself on quivering arms, the muscles hard and corded, twitching from the exertion. Gently, he lifts his hips, slipping out of me. I have to be quick; the towel is hanging off of the bedpost above my head and I slip it under me just in time. Cullen lays on his back, catching his breath, sweat gleaming on his scarred skin. Cleaning myself up is a simple matter, and I’m all too eager to return to bed, to the nook in his arms, where he holds me close. I can lie to him all I want, but this...this is real. I can cherish this, savor it, allow myself this slice of heaven before I dive headlong into hell.

    We’re tired, and even though there’s so much to be said, we say nothing. We’re content to lay there, basking in the afterglow.

    Maybe we’re both liars.

 

 

 

    The next day is busy. I’m ready to face Corypheus and Morrigan returns from her mysterious errand, claiming to have enough power to match the blighted dragon. We meet in the war room, which is where we will spend the remainder of the day, making all manner of plans, contingencies, and tentative solutions should we come out the victors.

    The entire time Cullen is watching me, and there’s a question written in his gaze that I’m shying from answering. Instead, I focus on the map. Our forces are still in the Arbor Wilds, cleaning up the last of Corypheus’ scattered army, and what force remains here is not enough to combat the magister and his dragon. Leliana’s agents have all been recalled, save for a select few still out in the far-flung regions of the Western Approach and the Fallow Mire. We’ve secured stability in the Hinterlands, on the Storm Coast, in Emprise du Lion, the Emerald Graves, and the Exalted Plains. I have more power in my possession than I ever wanted in life. Sovereigns bow to me or fear me turning my gaze on them in disfavor, and I have more than enough to topple Orlais and Ferelden both from the inside out. None of that matters, now. None of it, because I just want to be with the man I love and toss the Inquisition away.

    “Inquisitor?” Josephine’s voice is gentle, concerned, and I resist the urge to cry. How long have I been staring at the map? Have they been talking this entire time?

    “I was just...weighing our options.” I say lamely, and she wrinkles her brow at me in puzzlement, but says nothing. I take a deep breath and push away from the table, knifing my fingers through my hair. Out of my periphery, I can see the worry on Cullen’s face. They’re waiting for me to make some grand speech. They’re waiting for their Inquisitor to assure them that victory it just beyond the mountain.

    “As you all know,” I begin, looking at them each in turn, “I am going to face Corypheus any day now, and we’ve seen what he’s capable of. I think we all know my odds of survival are slim at best.”

    I see the color momentarily drain from Cullen’s face, and guilt knocks me in the chest...but I press on. I’ve established the nature of the dance, and now he has no choice but to follow my lead. I can see the gathering storm in his eyes, but he makes no move to contest me.

    “In the event that I walk into this fight and my life ends, I need you all to promise me that you will ensure the Inquisition stays its course until order is restored.” I let the words sink in. I can see how different my advisors are, based on their reactions. Josephine does this thing where she bites her lip, and her eyes go a little wide. I can see the momentary blur of her calm face as she realizes just how many possible futures my death entails. Leliana is impassive, but her eyes narrow somewhat, and I can see her plotting escape routes for her agents and burning all trails that may lead back to her. I can see her being the first to go rogue from the Inquisition as the Orlesians and the Fereldans turn their fangs upon all we’ve built. Morrigan is indifferent, having only known me a handful of weeks, but I can see her weighing her options. Will she stand with Orlais when they inevitably seek to scour Thedas clean of the Inquisition’s taint? Or will she disappear into Ferelden? It is hard to tell; Morrigan plays the Game better than any Orlesian I’ve met.

    Cullen’s face is hard, but I’ve become adept at reading the unseen text on this man’s soul. His face is stony, and he looks resigned to the possibility of my death. But his **eyes**.

    _Maker, please_.

    His eyes tell a story no one else knows is being written. A story about how a young mage survived the impossible and found her way to him. How she gave him a sanctuary no one else knew about in a place that was at once secret and yet in plain sight. About how he came to care for her, and she for him. How she weathered the storm of his heart until it calmed. His eyes tell me a story of laughter and sighs, of companionable silences, of heated arguments. Of long nights making love, of mornings spent reluctantly rousing from bed, and afternoons going over maps in his office. His eyes are reading our story, flipping through weathered pages to relive memories too tender to share with anyone else.

    His eyes are telling our story, and the pain in them is almost enough to make me backtrack.

    I’m not Hadiza in this room, I’m the Inquisitor. I’m the most powerful woman in Thedas right now, and I can’t afford to let my heart lead me when my head knows better. Cullen is the head of the most powerful army in Thedas, and he is under my command. He knows that here, in this room where so many fates hang on the tips of our fingers, that he cannot gainsay the Inquisitor.

    I know that later, when I no longer have that shadow to hide behind, he will try. So I do the only thing I know how to make sure he doesn’t.

    “I need you to swear it to me, in Andraste’s name. All of you.” I make my heart hard, as Solas once said I must, and I put the steel of my gaze in the timbre of my voice, where it should be.

    “In Andraste’s name...” Leliana speaks first, bowing her head toward me.  “I swear it.”

    “In Andraste’s name,” Josephine echoes, but the sigh in her voice is a heavy one. “I swear it.”

    Morrigan looks slightly offended, and her brows go up as I glance toward her.

    “Surely you do not expect me to entertain such melodrama?” she asks. I say nothing. She’s in this just as deep as we are. As far as the world is concerned, she is part of the Inquisition. Anything that came before is dwarfed by what lies ahead. I’ll extract a promise from her, even if it is an empty one. Her word is not the one I’m after, anyway.

    “Alright,” she concedes with a roll of her eyes,. “In Andraste’s name, I swear it.”

    Cullen, I notice, is very quiet, and I can see him fighting his temper. He knows what I’m about, and now I have backed him into a proverbial corner. If he makes the promise, he’ll keep it. His word means everything to him. If he doesn’t, then the other advisors will turn on him. He has no choice, and he knows it, and he’ll keep his promise, even if it pains him to make it.

    _I’m so sorry, my love_ , I think to myself, wanting nothing more than to wrap my arms around him and forget the world is falling apart around us. Instead I stand there, and between us is all of Thedas, marked with the Inquisition’s symbols of espionage, military, and diplomacy. We are not conquerors, but the map tells the truth of it. Aja once spat that the Inquisition was a power-grabbing snake. She’s right.

    Cullen’s silence has gone on too long, and our eyes are all upon him.

    “Commander?” Josephine asks. There is no one in this room who is blind to what this means to him...and what it means to me.

    “In Andraste’s name,” he grates out, and his gaze holds mine. “I swear it.”

    I can’t bear the look on his face any longer so I conjure up a bland smile, clap my hands together and move on.

    “Good! Then we’re all in accord, then? Right. Is there anything else that needs to be done in here before we adjourn?” This false brightness is sickening especially in the wake of such a heavy moment, but I have to show them that I do not fear death. I am their Inquisitor and no one knows the stakes better. I wait for them, because part of me is hoping that there’s something else-- _anything_ else--to keep me in this room where the Inquisitor can bear Cullen’s hurt. I can’t do this, and my chest starts to hurt again. I want to go back in time, to the moment I met Cullen, and never speak to him. I want to spare him and myself the pain of what’s to come. I want him to look at me as just another mage. I want them all to see me as only a body to be thrown at Corypheus, and not Hadiza. Not their erstwhile friend, comrade, lover, and Inquisitor. I need them to see the Inquisitor as a role to be filled and not my second skin.

My head is spinning, my heart is pounding, and my throat feels tight as my breathing becomes shallow. Why is it so hot in here all of a sudden? I see them tense as a green light fills the room, the Anchor flaring up angrily.

    The explosion in the distance tears the scar in the sky open anew, and echoes in every fabric of my being. I can’t scream because my voice is gone. There is a momentary feeling of disconnect, as if my soul has been blown clear of my body, only to be yanked back. It turns out I am screaming, I just couldn’t hear myself.

    The world is a splatter of colors for an instant, like a painting left in the rain, and sounds are jumbled and muffled as it spins around me. There is a smell like burning cloth as I fall to my knees, clutching my now-bare left arm. The Anchor is pulsing in my hand, but it has spread and burned away my sleeve in the process. Angry green veins produce fissure-like designs on my dark skin, glowing like sickly lyrium. They spread from my hand, following the path of my blood, up to my shoulder.

    “Hadiza!” Cullen forgets decorum because now I’m in danger. Me and the Inquisitor. He practically leaps across the war table to get to me, and I want to tell him right then and there that I love him, my stupid knight in battered armor.

    “What…?” I manage to eke out and then I feel something hot and liquid drip onto my upper lip. Without thinking my tongue pokes out and I taste the coppery flavor of my own blood. Cullen kneels in front of me, takes the corner of his surcoat and dabs at my nose. I blink at him, trying to concentrate on anything but the searing heat in my left arm.

    “Maker!” Cullen hisses. “What was that?” He helps me to my feet and I sway on unsteady legs, leaning against him as he continues to stymie the blood flow from my nose.

    “‘Twould seem Corypheus is not content to wait.” Morrigan answers, her golden eyes fixated on the reopened Breach, visible from the window. I look too, and I laugh mirthlessly at the irony. Where it all began is where it shall end, then. Perfect. It seems Corypheus is one for such poetic niceties. I’ll have to thank him when I go to meet him.

    The blood from my nose finally stops. That’s all the sign I needed.

    “Hadiza…” Cullen murmurs as I drop his surcoat and pull away from him. I shake my head. Not now. It’s too late to stop me and he has a promise to keep.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen says to me, “our men are still making their way out of the Arbor Wilds. We...we don’t have enough to aid you in this.” The Commander speaks but his eyes are all mine. In my final hour, I must face this evil alone, and it hurts no one more than it hurts him. Had I been anyone else but the woman he loved, would he have looked at me the way he looks upon me, now? I smile at him, turning my gaze to the window. No more lies.

    “Is he so eager to die?” I whisper harshly, trying to boost my own confiden. I need more time. I will never have enough time. I draw myself together, thinking of all the moments I have survived the impossible. I’ve faced down ten high dragons, countless darkspawn, innumerable demons, and some of the nastiest mages in Thedas, courtesy of the Tevinter Imperium.

    One fucking ancient magister is not going to defeat me.

    “I want you all to know,” I tell them, and I am at once Hadiza and the Inquisitor, “that I could ask for no finer advisors in all of Thedas. Without you my achievements would never have been possible. If these are to be my final words to you, then I want you to know that.”

    Cullen wants to fight me, but the truth is now written on my left arm and it is uncertain how long before it spreads some more. He holds my gaze, and I do not look away. The time for that is long past. He sighs, shuts his eyes, and when he opens them my darling commander gazes back. In that moment, I’m proud of him.

    “And we could ask for no greater cause, Inquisitor. Maker watch over you.” He says to me, and he’s speaking for all present, I’m sure, but those are not the words I hear. I want to weep from the pain in my body, but it is dwarfed by the agony tearing at my heart. Maker, I’m about to walk away from this man--this man who has trusted me through trial by fire and fury--and I know deep down that there is no future for us.

    Walking away from Cullen is the hardest part about this night.

    Defeating Corypheus is the easy part.

 

 

 

    I take Aja, Blackwall, Vivienne, and Iron Bull with me. It feels good to have my sister by my side. It feels good to be backed by people who won’t question me. Aja pulls me aside, because we might not be speaking once we leave Skyhold.

    “Diza,” she says, giving me that stupid smile to show off her gold tooth, “this is it, huh? Time to get our names in one of Varric’s books.” I want to laugh because I haven’t even thought about the amount of book fodder we’ve created for Varric. Somehow he’s been present where everything is happening. Aja rubs the shaved sides of her head, massaging her scalp.

    “Yeah,” I reply, “I guess this is it. You’d think Corypheus would give himself a chance to regroup before attempting godhood but here we fucking are...going to kick his ass.”

    We both laugh, remembering our flight from the Arbor Wilds, our battle with Calpernia, and the desperation to get through the eluvian before Corypheus could finish resurrecting himself. Why it’s funny to us, now, of all times, I’ll never know.

    “Mother would have been proud of you, you know,” Aja tells me and I feel a lump form in my throat, “she always loved your magic.” I’m going to cry. My sister is dredging up old memories and a pain I never allowed myself to feel.

    “Look at it this way,” Aja continues, “you two are alike in your inexplicable love of Templars. How _are_ they in bed, anyway?”

    I open my mouth, then close it. I’m scandalized. On the eve of battle my sister is wondering how Templars are--

    “Aja!” I admonish. She shrugs.

    “I’m just wondering, Diza,” She assures me, then glances toward Blackwall, “Grey Wardens aren’t slouches in that department either, you know. Between the Taint and the lyrium, there’s a veritable market for men who are looking to rekindle their--”

    “Aja!” I shriek, laughing now. She’s grinning hard at me, puts her arm around my shoulders and ruffles my hair. She’s the younger sister, but she’s got more life experience than I do. I’m going to miss her. Aja presses her scarred lips firmly to my forehead.

    “Don’t worry about a thing, Diza,” she assures me, “I’ve got you. I’ve _always_ got you.”

    I burst into tears, covering it with laughter. Aja turns me away from the rest of our companions, murmuring in my ear, telling me that I’ve done more for the Trevelyan name than anyone in our entire House’s history. She tells me to be strong, not just for the Inquisition, or even for Cullen, but for myself. This is the purpose the Maker has turned me to, and Aja assures me she will walk the path with me as long as fate allows. She is my sword and my shield where Cullen cannot be. I bury my face in her shoulder, mindful of her pauldrons, the hard metal of her armor a cold comfort to what is to come. Aja holds me until the tears stop, then helps me dry my eyes. She kisses my forehead again, reverent.

    “Andraste’s fire burn in you, sister.” She says, a benediction she learned from an old Chantry mother in some remote corner of the continent. It has carried her across the wild and untamed places, and she passes that courage onto me. I feel it settle, a warmth like sunlight in the middle of an unforgiving winter, and I can see Andraste in my mind’s eye, smiling benevolently, admiring my courage. As I draw strength from my companions to use the Anchor, so I may draw strength from them to place steel in my spine.

    The advisors stand to see us off, and I mount my dracolisk, stroking the spines on its head, taking comfort where I can find it. Atop the steps leading into the keep, I see Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. They look solemn and proud. Everyone in Skyhold does, and I have never been more honored to be in a position of authority than I am this night. Cullen’s eyes search for me, and even from the distance, I can see he’s watching me, can feel him praying for a swift victory and my safe return. Leliana leans over, murmurs something to him. I will have to ask him what it was about. For now, I turn my mount toward the gate.

    “Inquisition!” I bellow, raising my hand and bathing it in the white-hot glow of an arcane bolt. “To war!”

    The cheers are deafening, the soldiers in the keep banging on their shields, bellowing and ululating a battlecry on our behalf. It bolsters our courage, and even Vivienne, who frowns upon such displays of unruliness, sits a little straighter in the saddle, and offers me one of her knowing smiles.

    We ride.

 

 

 

    Corypheus is something of an asshole.

    I say that in absolute seriousness. He’s an asshole because he has mastery over virtually every school of magic known and unknown. He is casting spells even Vivienne has not seen and it is everything we can do to shield our warriors from it. Morrigan is no where to be found, and I will own, at first it was disconcerting, until I saw a dragon with curved horns take on Corypheus’ dragon, and realized what she’d meant when she said she could match it.

    I should have drank from the Well of Sorrows. I could be a fire-breathing behemoth right now.

    “This is such bullshit!” I shriek from behind an outcropping of rocks. Did I mention Corypheus has arranged the debris to look like the Black City? Do you understand that I am livid because he will not give up this foolishness?

    The other magisters all died or crawled deep into the earth to become dormant or what have you.

    Corypheus wants godhood. To what end? I’ve seen the future his ‘godhood’ brings. Nothing good will come of it.

    I grit my teeth and summon the symbol of an energy barrage in front of me. It draws on my mana, draining first the lyrium, and then me, the symbol floating and crackling before me. With a grunt of supreme effort, I release it. The magic missiles splash against Corypheus’ shields.

    He laughs, wild with power, the Fade visible above us as we are directly beneath the reopened Breach. I can see the innumerable heads of demons of all shapes and sizes, crowding around the edges of the Breach, wanting so badly to enter the physical world and wreak havoc. Corypheus’ power keeps them at bay.

    This is why the Circles exist. I shudder to think on how mages will be treated after this. I shudder to think on how anyone will mend after this. It’s a nightmare given form, and Corypheus intends to loose it upon the world indiscriminately. If one is not a mage, one stands no chance of surviving. We who are mages understand the Fade better than the non-magical folk. Demons would overrun Ferelden in a matter of weeks.

    I think of Ostwick and my head begins to throb.

    Vivienne is suddenly there in a quick Fade-step, pressing a lyrium potion to my dry lips.

    “Be quick, darling, I do believe we’re wearing him down.” She says to me and it is as close to affection as I’ve heard her. The lyrium burns like ice all the way to my belly, and then thrums loudly in my blood, tingling my toes and fingertips. I lick my lips and Vivienne daintily tosses the empty vial away.

    “Good girl,” she commends me, “now get out there and unleash the wrath of heaven upon him. I’m right behind you.”

    With that, I draw up all my courage again, and climb from behind the cover of the crumbling ruins. Aja and Blackwall are  crouched low behind their shields, and Bull has climbed one of the crumbling ledges. I see what he means to do, and I’ll not stop him.

    “Corypheus!” I shout. The creature’s head turns, almost jerky, as if he no longer knows how to move like a human being given his twisted and ugly form. His eyes are too wide and overly focused, and the red lyrium has twisted his mouth into a permanent sneer, which he deepens at the sight of me.

    “ _You_ ,” he growls, floating toward me as I ready my staff, “you who will not leave be and die. You dare? You _dare_ , you misbegotten child of Rivain?”

    Corypheus is not too caught up on the lineages of Thedas. He thinks in a time of the Imperium’s power, when all who look like me were from Rivain. We’ve spread out a little more since then, and I’m not about to let his digs at my heritage give me pause.

    So I laugh, which brings him up short. At first, I think he’s surprised, but then his claws swipe at me and I jerk back, tuck, and roll out of range. I can feel the charge in the air, a smell like sulfur, and then ozone. Corypheus points one clawed finger at me. At the same time, Bull leaps from the ledge, axe coming down. the impact makes a sickening crunch as shards of red lyrium shatter, and Corypheus shrieks in abject pain. The red lyrium has become apart of his body, and through it we can hurt him. His other hand is preoccupied with the orb, which is my key to sealing the Breach.

    “Dumat!” Corypheus cries, a strange desperation in his voice and for a moment, I am afraid that Dumat will answer him. Dumat’s long gone but what if he comes back just for this asshole?

    “Dumat, hear your faithful servant!” The Breach swirls above us, lets out a single pulse.

    The Anchor echoes. _Violently_.

    Corypheus is confused, and glances at me sharply, then back up to the Breach. The orb in his hand crackles with the same sickly green as my arm, and I reach out, wondering for a brief moment--for a _terribly thrilling_ moment--if I could be brazen enough to enter the Black City myself. In a blink the orb gravitates to my hand, united with the Anchor and power surges through me, earth-shattering and _gripping_ , like the moment just before a climax. In that instant, Corypheus drops to his knees, disbelieving, but I...I can see everything. The possibilities unfurl before my minds eye in paths like a tree’s branches.

    I can take the Black City for _myself_.

    I can _rule_ this world.

    I can set things right, more than I ever could in the Inquisition.

    The Inquisitor can claim godhood. Hadiza can restore the City herself.

    The Chantry will be obsolete, and my word will be as binding as the Maker’s own breath.

    I will need someone to rule beside me, I will need to found a dynasty.

    _Cullen_. It can be no one else. He’s loyal, strong, supportive. I will condition him to rule alongside me and guide this world into a golden age of prosperity. I just have to--

    All at once, the paths come up short, and I catch a glimpse of multiple red eyes, a fanged pair of jaws, which open into a wide and unfathomable void; a roar issues from them, making my soul ache and tremble, and I am suddenly back beneath the Breach, the orb in my hand. I know what I must do.

    “I do not understand…” Corypheus moans in anguish, his power waning while mine grows, “I do not understand!”

    Neither do I, and I lift the orb toward the sky, the broken and torn sky, and I glimpse the silhouette of countless demons, and in the distance, the Black City, empty and desolate, and utterly forbidden to us.

    “This was not meant for us!” I shout at Corypheus, who looks more like a defeated man than an ancient darkspawn magister. He is but breath and shadow, now, and his time has long since ended. The Breach shudders as I remove my barriers and release the orb’s power. The Anchor is the key to the door, and I must close it.

    _Just like a Fade rift, Hadiza. Just like a Fade rift. Just bigger._

The Breach fights back, and the pulses that once sent me to my knees now push directly against everything that comprises me. Skin, muscle, sinew, bone, my spirit. The Breach is strong, but the promise I’ve made to the world is so much stronger.

    I push back, directing the Breach’s pulses to Corypheus, who will bear the pain I cannot. I’m watching the sky begin to knit, listening to Corypheus death wail. I can feel the Anchor thrumming all over my body as the orb cracks and only when the Breach is sealed do I let the last pulse take me off my feet. I let myself fall because my job is done. Corypheus is a smoking husk before me and the sky is whole.

    Iron Bull catches me before I hit the ground.

 

 

    For a while, we are there on our hallowed battleground, resting.

    “She’s...is she…” I hear Blackwall begin but Aja cuts him off.

    “Don’t you dare!” She shouts at him, but her voice is trembling, and there’s a note in it that is so at odds with everything I know her to be. I have never heard my sister so thoroughly unstrung, like a lute with a string that’s out of tune with the others.

    “My dear,” Vivienne’s voice is full of compassion and sympathy and the sky above me is so cold and sickly green, and I wish I could see them, “we must get her back to Skyhold.”

    “She won’t make it back to Skyhold.” Iron Bull says bluntly. I can’t move, my body is in pain, and it’s growing colder with each minute that limps past. I hear an anguished sound torn from Aja’s throat, hear the rumble of Blackwall attempting to console her.

    “The mark’s spread too far,” Bull says, “she’ll be gone before we even reach the pass.”

    This is not my fear. My fight is over. I can tell because the edges of my vision are going dark. I’m thinking of Cullen.

    Maker! Cullen!

    _I’m so sorry, my love. Everything we planned can never be. But you’re safe. You’re safe to have a future. I’ve served my purpose._

I think about his smile when I first tell him I care for him. He’s surprised and delighted. Our first kiss is a dream, his tongue is so gentle, his lips taste like wine. I try to remember his scent, try to lose myself in the memory of mapping his scarred skin with lips and fingertips, of his quiet laughter as I make silly jests in bed.

    All I can see are stars, now, competing with the glow of the sky’s own battlescar.

    I watch all the plans I’ve made die stillborn as my life ebbs from me.

    I remember Cullen offering to dance with me during the ball at the Winter Palace. My gown was so stunning too. It was white and silver, with diamonds sewn onto the netting so that it sparkled in the light. Cullen told me I looked like starlight made flesh. We danced, even after the music stopped. He stumbled, taking me with him. He caught me up in his arms and lifted me up...high enough for me to look down at him. Then he spun me around like a princess out of one of the old fairy tales. He laughed as he did it, and I laughed too. That is the only time I’ve seen him be silly when people were watching. It is one of my favorite memories from Halamshiral. It is how my dying self will remember him... _us_.

    I think I’m laughing, now, but no sound is coming out.

    What did Cullen want to ask me after this?

    Did he want to marry me? Did he think I would say anything other than yes?

    Suddenly, I am afraid of what’s coming. I am terrified. I want to live. I want Cullen. I want him so badly. I need him here with me, to kiss me, to whisper the Chant, and tell me everything is going to be alright.

    “Hadiza!” Aja’s wail cracks the night air. Iron Bull holds me, but I can no longer feel, can no longer see. I’m ascending somewhere beyond their reach. Too fast, too much. The memories are slipping from my mind like sand through the fingers. Is this what Cole meant? Is this what it was like?

    _No! I want to go back! No, please! Just a little longer, please! Let me tell him that I love him! Cullen, yes! Yes, I’ll--_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you need a tissue, I'm fresh out, sorry. Blame Ballades for this coming to life. Comment on your way out, please and thank you. <3


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